A long and uncomfortable silence followed.
"How fare the brothers working on the herbal poultices and syrups that Brother Francis bade us to make? " Agronguerre asked at length. "The ones that came down from the Timberlands-from Jilseponie, we believe? "
"They had all the ingredients available," Bou-raiy answered. "I suspect that the compounding is nearly complete."
"If it is not, then add brothers to the work," the Father Abbot instructed, "as many as it takes to get those concoctions out to the desperate people."
"They will not cure, by Abbot Braumin's own words, relayed to us directly from St. Precious, and to him from the very source of the recipes: the woman Jilseponie, so he said."
"But they will help," Agronguerre tartly replied. "And they will help to make the people understand that we are doing all that we can. Brother Francis stopped their charge this time. Next time, I fear, we will be forced to use more drastic measures, and that I do not desire.
"And your observation concerning Brother Francis was quite correct," Agronguerre went on. "He does play an important role-more so than you apparently recognize. Look upon him and be glad for him. His choice in this has been a blessing to the Abellican Church as much as to the peasants he so magnificently serves."
"Surely you do not agree with him," Master Bou-raiy snapped back without hesitation.
Father Abbot Agronguerre turned away from the man without answering, looking back over the desolate field and the wretched refugees, clearly torn by the sight.
"Father Abbot!"
"Fear not, for I am not intending to open St.-Mere-Abelle to the plague victims," Agronguerre replied solemnly, "nor have I any designs of walking out of our gates to join dear Francis on the field. But neither can I find fault with the man for his choices. No, I admire him, and fear that the only reason I am not out there beside him is because…" He paused and turned back to face Fio Bou-raiy squarely. "Because I am afraid, brother. I am old and have not many years left and am not afraid of death. No, not that. But I am afraid of the rosy plague."
Fio Bou-raiy thought to argue strongly against Francis, to label the man a fool and his course one of disaster for the Church if his example was held up in a positive light, but he wisely bit back the words. He held no fears that Abbot Agronguerre would prod others to follow Brother Francis, nor that the man would go out on the field himself; and though he didn't want Francis praised in any way for his foolish actions, he recognized that to be a small price to pay. For Brother Francis would be dead soon enough, Fio Bou-raiy believed, yet another example of the folly of trying to do battle with the rosy plague.
"It is pragmatism that keeps you here. Father Abbot," he did say quietly. "Is it? " Agronguerre asked with a snort, and he turned and walked away. A frustrated Fio Bou-raiy turned back to face the field and leaned heavily on the wall. He spotted Francis then, again at work with his soul stone on some unfortunate victim. Bou-raiy shook his head in disgust, and he did not agree with Father Abbot Agronguerre at all on this point. No, he saw Francis as setting a bad example for the Church, reinforcing the belief of the ignorant peasants that the Church should be more active in this time of desperation.
Fio Bou-raiy slapped his hand against the thick stone wall. They would get the poultices and syrup out soon, but he almost hoped that it would not be soon enough, that the peasants would come at St.-Mere-Abelle wildly. No, he didn't really want to kill any of them, though he figured that to do so would actually prove a blessing to the poor, unfortunate wretches. But if it did happen, Fio Bou-raiy decided that his first shot, with lightning or with crossbow, would not be aimed at any ignorant peasant. No, he would target a certain troublemaking Abellican brother.
"Do it!" King Danube demanded, as harsh a command as he had ever given to Duke Kalas.
"You would jeopardize the goodwill toward the Throne for the sake of-" Kalas tried to argue.
"Do it, and now!" King Danube interrupted. There was no room in his tone for any debate. "With all speed."
Kalas glanced to the side, to Constance Pemblebury.
"With all speed and with all heart," King Danube said.
Kalas saluted his King with a thump to his chest, a formal acceptance of command that did not often occur between the two friends, then turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the room, his boots clacking loudly with every step.
King Danube looked over at Constance and sighed.
"It pains Duke Kalas gready to do anything of benefit to the Abellican Church," she said, trying to calm him.
King Danube nodded and closed his eyes, remembering all too well the source of Kalas' pain and resentment, remembering Vivian, his queen. But then, before he could fall too deeply into the trance of long-ago memories, he blinked his eyes and shook his head resolutely. His duty as king now was clear to him: to protect St. Honce as strongly as he would protect Castle Ursal, and though the brothers within the abbey might be able to contain the peasant horde now threatening riot at their gates, it was incumbent upon the Crown to make a strong showing of support for the Church.
There was no room for argument, and no time for debate.
He and Constance sat quietly for a few minutes, each digesting the sudden but not unexpected turn of events.
And then came the cries of outrage, the explosion of the mob, and then a crackle of thunder.
"They are going against the abbey," Constance observed.
And then they heard a different sort of thunder, the rumble of horses' pounding hooves, and the peasants' cries of anger soon shifted to wails of pain and terror.
The pair in the throne room understood well enough that the Allheart knights had charged out with their typical, brutal efficiency, understood that the threat to St. Honce had just come to an abrupt end.
King Danube glanced over at Constance and saw the pained, weary look upon her face. This was taking such a toll on all of them. The seclusion, the helplessness, the necessary and exhausting shows of strength.
"You should go and spend some time with Merwick and Torrence," Danube offered.
"Duke Kalas will soon return, and his mood will be all the more foul," Constance replied.
Danube nodded, knowing the truth of that observation. "Go and play," he insisted. "Duke Kalas is a member of the court and the appointed leader of the Allheart knights. He will do as I instruct, and do so properly, or he will be relieved of his command."
Constance raised her eyebrows, her expression skeptical.
And that, too, Danube understood all too well. In this time of great discontent and frustration, replacing Duke Kalas would not sit well with the Allheart knights, who truly loved the man. But Danube knew, as well, that it would never come to that. Kalas was stubborn and his hatred of the Abellican Church could not be underestimated, but in the end and above all else, he was Danube's man, a true friend. He and his knights had performed beautifully outside St. Honce, no doubt; and he and Danube could quickly put that distasteful errand behind them.
Constance, after a moment, seemed to come to the same conclusion, for she rose from her seat and walked past King Danube, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and then made her way out of the room.
Duke Kalas appeared within minutes.
"Near to fifty dead," he announced grimly, "trampled on the streets."
"And your knights? " Danube asked.
Kalas scoffed, as if at the notion that any of his magnificent Allhearts could even be wounded by the likes of a mere peasant. "Then we did as we had to," the King went on. "We defended St. Honce, as our agreement with the Abellican Church demands, and we reminded the peasants that even in a time of plague the laws must be obeyed."
If only it were that simple! Danube silently added, for though he remained stern and solid, and though he believed in his proclamation, the reality that his prized Allheart knights had just slaughtered fifty of his own people offended him profoundly.